A few hours later, im sitting here again, sipping on my stash of Vodka and energy drink. I’m trying to work out why it is I write, as the burn of the cheap Vodka and slightly flat mixer hits the back of my throat. If i’m honest i’m not really sure I know. I drink because I want the blurry escape from reality that it allows me, I cut to feel something real, I watch absurd amounts of TV and films as another form of escape, but I write..why? Where is it I want this to go? I used to write poems and started various short stories, but they always had to be based around real people/events, I could never make complete work of Fiction. Am I lonely is because I have nobody to talk to? I don’t think so, I mean i’m not doing it because I want people to comment, not even bothered if anybody is reading it? Maybe it’s because it gives my mind something to focus on? Who knows maybe I never will work out the answer!?
I’ve now taken to downing the remainder of the Vodka and it’s starting to get stronger, but this is good as I need a break, it’s taking all my will power to control my feelings toward the women who seem to have had the unfortunate luck of becoming the objects of affection. Arrrghh, fuck me my arms starting to get sore now I can’t stop picking the bloody scabs!!
But you know what, it’s okay. I think i’m starting to see it now. My head, Me…i’m a complete Fuck Up!
I no longer think I class myself as a normal and adequately functioning member of society.